


repudiation

by QSoC



Category: Bartimaeus - Jonathan Stroud, The Bartimaeus Sequence, The Bartimaeus Trilogy
Genre: Genocide, Infanticide, Racism, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-10
Updated: 2018-04-10
Packaged: 2019-04-21 04:58:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14277417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QSoC/pseuds/QSoC
Summary: "headcanon…bart dislikes watching children being hurt/killed after ptolemy’s deathhe knows what it feels like to lose one"response to what-would-xerxes-say's post on tumblr





	repudiation

It wasn’t the first time I’d experienced the Rack.

It probably goes without saying, really. Being me, with all my razor-sharp wit and determination for self-preservation. There had been more than one occasion when a master had snapped, said the biting words and suddenly my essence was pulled apart from within me - stretched and torn and flamed like a piece of meat on an altar. It’s not something I actively go looking to repeat.

There are times though, when, ok, I can maybe expect it. Never deserve it, of course - that’s a whole other spiel that frankly, after 3,000 years or so, I’ve no longer got the patience to dwell on. But I can expect it - the times when I’ve knowingly toed the line, pushed that invisible boundary a little too far, and I can tense in preparation for when the blow finally hits. Can close my eyes against the firey lightning as it crackles towards me, bracing myself for the hit.

(Alternatively, you can use the split second to transform - it’s a little less embarrassing coming to as a puddle of slime if you started off as say, a pillar of flame or a billowing storm cloud. Insubstantial forms are far less restrictive when you’re writhing in agony across the planes as they split and merge and crumble around you.)

I’ve expected it, but I’ve never chosen it. I mean, why would I? I’m pretty sure willingly stepping into all consuming pain and anguish is pretty high up there on the signs of madness front. It’s not exactly fun and, believe it or not, I’m no masochist. But despite what the legends say, I’m no cold-hearted efficient warrior either. I’m not mindlessly fixated on the goal, going to obsessive lengths to achieve ends - you can summon Jabor for that. No, I have principles. I have… morals.

Now, don’t get me wrong - 90% of the time I don’t really care. I really don’t! It’s none of my business what humans get up to in their spare time. You call me up, you send me on some ridiculous, inane charge, I keep my head down, I go home. I don’t get involved. It’s how it is. I’m not out to change the world - it’s not like it’s ever going to happen. I’ve been there, it doesn’t work, it ends badly for all involved. I do my job.

But, there are… lines, ok. There are lines that… they don’t always stop me, but they, they make me hesitate. Sometimes. For like… a second, tops.

And there’s this one line that’s, well, bigger than the others. It’s a big line. More like a wall. A stone one, with…iron reinforcements, and maybe some archers lined up, with silver tipped arrows, glaring down. And a ditch infront.

It’s a line that goes “I charge you to go down into the slums on the lower east side, where the buildings are piled on top of each other and almost collapsing under the weight of their dirt and filth from where they’ve crawled to infect us. In the darkness and stench I charge you to ignite their curtains, their bedsheets, anything that burns until the flames touch the skies and their screams are choked-off by smoke. I want to hear their pain from here, every man, woman, and child suffer in order to cleanse us of their impurity.”

 

I’m not going to cross it.

There comes a time when you have a choice. For example, right now, I’ve chosen that flames and smoke are not going to cut it when the lightning hits and my essence falls apart. This is no longer about ensuring some semblance of personal comfort in times of crisis. This is about something bigger than my reputation, my standing, my goddamn ego for once. Which is why a young boy with dark skin and thick hair takes a step where he stands in his circle. Arms crossed, jaw set, mouth a hard line while he stares down the man opposite him. Challenging, defiant, strength from the inside where his would-be heart beats steady and pure and true.

I say no.

(It wasn’t the first time I’d experienced the Rack. But it’s the first time I chose it.)

**Author's Note:**

> This started out as an impulsive ramble after a fairly innocuous tumblr post got me thinking, and it turned very dark... very quickly  
> ... and now I'm thinking even more...
> 
> The tags make it seem pretty horrific, and for that I'm sorry - but I thought it fair to forewarn. The whole world-concept of Bartimaeus is pretty fckd, and I think the implications of a lot of the history and behaviour can get lost in our favourite cynical humour. I don't think this is a bad thing - I think it's one of the sequence's greatest strengths in that it addresses some Big Issues in a very accessible way. I also think time to reflect on the ~reality~ of these lives brings greater gravity to their actions throughout the books, also.
> 
> This is all very serious and I don't like that, so I'd like to finish with a favourite quote from a good friend,
> 
> "I'm communist because of Kitty Jones."


End file.
